


Bet Me

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s05e14 The Prodigal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-09
Updated: 2008-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shake on it?" John says, and this is honestly not how Rodney would have predicted his day would end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet Me

**Author's Note:**

> A wee thing to cheer up [Cate](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com). Thanks to [Jenn](http://dogeared.livejournal.com) for her help.

"Shake on it?" John says, and this is honestly not how Rodney would have predicted his day would end. The remote control dangles loosely from the fingers of one hand; he holds the other out to Rodney, palm curved empty and waiting, and only someone who's known John for years could parse the waiting tilt of his head, the crinkling of the fine lines around his eyes. Rodney looks from fingers to face and back again, and the funny thing is that he can remember exactly the last time the clasp of a hand had the potential to mean so much to him—seven hours and forty three minutes ago in the jumper bay, when his mouth had been dry and the firm grip of John's hand around his was the only thing able to stop him from trembling at the thought of yet another _so long, Rodney._

"The fine print, Sheppard," Rodney says, because he doesn't trust the hand's span of distance between them; because talking has always served him well where reaching out has failed; because he doesn't trust what he's heard John say. He tilts his chin up and waits to hear the devil in the details—for a _har har har_ of laughter, for a hint of irony in John's eyes that falls just shy of cruelty—because there has to be a compromise, a catch. This is never the kind of deal that Rodney gets to make.

John's mouth quirks upwards, yes, but there's no cruelty in his smile. If he's laughing at Rodney, he's laughing at them both, at the circumstances that have conspired to bring them here: two men the wrong side of forty, playing with toys at the quiet edge of the city, making promises Rodney hopes he's able to keep. "Simple bet, Rodney. If I win, you have to kiss me." John's voice is even, but the set of his limbs is coltish, awkward, and he can't hold Rodney's gaze.

_Ridiculous_, Rodney thinks.

"And if _I_ win?" Rodney says, because he can't help himself, even now. Even with his pulse racing and a smile that's struggling to break free on his face, a twin to John's own, even though he wants to reach out and touch—even at the edge of this, Rodney has to test every angle of a hypothesis, know all possible outcomes. (_John wants Rodney to_ kiss _him_...)

"Rodney," John says, sounding faintly exasperated and so dearly familiar, and he's takes a step forward, close enough now that Rodney has to fight the urge to let his eyes close. "Rodney," he says, and takes Rodney's hand in his, a shock of warm and callused skin, "we can't lose."


End file.
